


Hush, Little Baby

by Slaughter_Daughter



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Incest, M/M, One Shot, this is kind of fucked up just to forewarn you, why near is the way that he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaughter_Daughter/pseuds/Slaughter_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I tried to be good, I really did... </p>
<p>A look inside Near's mind, and the secret to why he's so emotionless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush, Little Baby

I tried to be good, I really did.

I was quiet, unmoving, obedient, barely even there.  _Barely alive._ But it didn't matter, everything I did was wrong. Daddy didn't like it when I made noise, when I spoke.  _Hush, baby,_ Mama would say,  _You know Daddy will be angry if you cry._

No, I couldn't ever cry. All children cried, though, it was in their nature. But I had to be better than other children, but I was so small, so young, and so fragile.  _So broken._  How could I live up to his standards? I couldn't.

_(I'm still broken.)_

_I'm sorry, Daddy! I didn't mean it! Please don't be mad!_ But he was always mad, and I was never good enough. I was only three, but that didn't matter to him. Three was old enough to speak, he said, so it was old enough to endure pain- to be punished.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Searing and red hot up my tiny spine. Coiling like a snake around its prey. I wasn't normal. Normal boys didn't have white hair and grey eyes. Normality was important to Daddy. Normal was perfection. I was albino, he told me, a disgrace. I had to be punished until I could be normal.

Bruises littered my skin, but no one ever noticed. He never hit my face, he was smarter than that. Long sleeves and pants all year round, I had to cover myself so no one would know. Mama knew, though. But Mama never told. I wasn't human, though, so why would she?

_Mama, hold me. I'm scared._

But Mama's too busy hiding from Daddy. Daddy has a knife in his hand, Daddy's face is red, and he reeks of cigarette smoke and the whiskey that he drinks. And I hid, I hid like the small child I was, shaking and, crying, gripping my teddy with all the strength I had.

But he found me.  _He always found me._

_Stop crying, you worthless piece of shit!_

_Daddy, Daddy, I'm sorry! I'll be better! I'll be normal, I promise!_

Words are meaningless. They slipped from my lips then as if they had purpose. As if they could make the pain stop.

The red oozed out of me, out of the wounds on my small belly, coating my tender flesh. Gash, after gash, he carved me up until he thought that my skin was pure enough. Because I wasn't pure. Children are born pure, are born innocent, but not me. I was a disease.

But I still wasn't good enough. He still couldn't make me pure.

_No! No!_ I cried as Daddy dropped his pants and bent me over, Mama left weeping in the closet where she stood frozen, paralyzed.

_I'm so sorry! I can change, I'll be good, I swear! I didn't mean to make you mad, Daddy! I'll be a good boy for you, Daddy!_

But he didn't listen, he didn't care.

_Good boys don't make noise,_ He hissed in my ear as he shoved into me. Pain, icy and hot at the same time, shot through out my fragile body as he broke it in. Break me down so you can build me up. But you never built me back up, Daddy. You just tore me down.

_Down, down, down,_ the blood dripped, running over my quivering thighs and onto the floor. Tainting it with my abnormality, with my impurity.

Daddy taught me not to show emotion. Daddy taught me not to cry. Daddy taught me to hate myself.

Daddy haunts my dreams every night, his lullaby still ringing in my ears.

_Hush, little baby, don't make a sound, just quiet your cries as Daddy throws you to the ground. Hush, little baby, don't make a move, because Daddy isn't nearly through with you…_

He's never through with me.

**Author's Note:**

> This hopefully didn't make anyone too depressed, but I reread the book Living Dead Girl by Elizabeth Scott, and I also just started thinking about Near's past, and I don't know, this popped into my head as to why he's so emotionless. All my stories are quite fucked up, I've noticed…


End file.
